Dropping the stubby down the hole
Outside, there is a powerful force; washing. Not a power wash, per se, because that involves specialized equipment that we do not have. Just a hose, a nozzle, a big brish and Dawn (the wonder detergent). And, the effect is visible. With a few seasons of agriculture bearby, the dust thickens and sticks to a house. We are watching the while replace the grey. And I am a bystander. Not sure-footed ebough to do any ladder gymnastics.
Just watched another passenger train video. This time, from London to Istanbul. Like in litereatyre, except with uncomfroatable beds, border checks and costs that leave me short of breath. No, not doing that route, in my lifetime. Not even with a sudden uptake in personal fortune. I’m approaching this more as a comparison to Theroux (one of my preferred travel writers). He knows how to complain.
In fact, without the requisite reread, I will recommend the book that parallels my video views from this afternoon. “The Great Railway Bazaar” (1976). A small piece in iis world-sized travel puzzle. Recommended. I only wish he’d do an updated version, because I like to hear big stories. Fifty years since he slumped into his coach seat.
Or, maybe I should start my eastern Canada story. Can’t take those trains, aby more. I could tell you about how a stubby would drop through the hole, just to establish my fiats. Or discuss what happens when the world freezes (my world was smaller, back then). And we didn’t really freeze. We were hauled to safety in Montreal. But the possibility existed.
